Waiting for the Prince
by NotYourAverageSchoolgirl
Summary: Ginny Weasley always believed in her fairytale stories of princesses and princes. Will she find her prince in a certain young hero? Utter HarryGinny fluff; please read and review!


**Oh just a little bit of fluff that came to me one day when I was sitting in my mom's second grade classroom... Sorry about taking so long to update the other stories, but this year is _hell_. Hell I tell you. I burst into tears in the middle of math last week because I was stressed out. I need a vacation... Waiting for turkey day! **

There was once a time when she was just a young girl, naïve to the ways of the world as she tread through life with light, airy steps, eyes unopened to darkness and destruction. She wore her hair in two plaits with ribbons, and sometimes, even though her mum chastised her, she chewed thoughtfully on the ends.

She lived in a dazzling world of storybook wonders, and fancied herself to be a modern day princess. Sometimes she would sit at her window and gaze out at the waning sunlight, the soft golden hue washing over her world subtly, and she would hope for her prince to come and sweep her off her feet. But she knew that she didn't really ever need a prince, because she had her brothers, her very own troupe of knights there to protect her.

And then her mum would call her downstairs to set the table for dinner, and she would cheerfully skip down the creaking wooden stairs of their cozy old home, towards the delicious smell of her mum's cooking. She forgot about waiting for the prince, most of the time.

She spent her summers outdoors, running barefoot through the fresh grass as she gazed up in wonder at her brothers zooming about in the sky. Sometimes they would let her come up with them, carefully seated in front on the broomstick, but they never ever let her play. They were annoyingly protective like that.

And in the fall, most of her brothers would leave her each year to go to a magical place they called school, and she would stay at home and build giant leaf piles. Sometimes she built them alone, and sometimes she built them with what brothers were still at home with her. When she jumped in, it made a satisfying crunch, and she would giggle and clap her hands together in delight. Sand sometimes her father would watch her and take pictures, and they would sit framed in the house, the little redheaded girl jumping over and over again into the dry pile of leaves.

The winters were always the best because there was Christmas to look forward to, and her brothers always came home for Christmas. The house smelled of hot apple cider, pies and freshly baked cookies, _mm hmm_. She would prance about the house in her white, flowing "angel" dress, complete with a glittery halo she had made herself, and she didn't care when her brothers made fun of her for being such a _girl_.

And during the spring, she always loved the rain best, and she would jump in the puddles and dance in the warm showers until her dress plastered itself to her skin, even though her parents worried that she would fall ill. She watched religiously for flowers, and when they did spring up, she would spend days sitting cross-legged in the grass, weaving crowns of daisies and dandelions.

She rather fancied herself a sort of ethereal fairy princess at times. And once in a while, she would stop and wonder if a prince really would come someday. But then she would remember that she wasn't at all a damsel in distress, and she would dismiss the thought as always.

And one year, when she was still just a slip of a girl who played with her dolls (but only in secret), the last brother went off to school and she was left all alone. But she didn't really mind because she was used to it, and when she was the only one, her mummy would feed her all of the best sweets and her daddy would give her piggyback rides and call her his princess. And sometimes, he would even teach her how to fly, even though her mum yelled at him every time she found out.

And then her brother came home and told her all about the boy named Harry Potter, a boy she once glimpsed at the train station and had heard so much about. He was a legend; he would save the world; he was a _hero_. And she rather wondered if she had found her prince at last.

And unexpectedly, that summer, her brothers brought the Boy-Who-Lived home, and she was so surprised when she saw him. He wasn't handsome or impressive looking, not like the princes in her storybooks at all, but when she peeked out at him from a crack in her door, her heart gave a little flutter and she wondered if this was what princesses felt when they saw their princes for the first time.

She was eleven years old, so _young_.

She went off to school for the first time, nervous and excited as she stepped onto the train and waved goodbye to her parents. And even though she had promised that she would be a big girl, she cried a little when the train shot off and she couldn't see her mummy and daddy anymore. She met other children her age, equally nervous and excited, and they chatted for a bit shyly. And she wanted nothing more than to look for her brother and the famed _Harry Potter_, but she didn't think she could bear to be that anxious and embarrassed, so she didn't.

Her first year was supposed to be wonderful, she was told. The sorting hat declared "Gryffindor!" and she sighed in relief, making her way over to her gleefully cheering brothers with a bashful smile. And during that year, she found a new friend, a boy who lived in a diary she wrote in every day. His name was Tom, and he was dark and handsome and mysterious, and he never failed to write back. And some part of her forgot about Harry Potter and she thought that maybe this boy, this Tom Riddle could be the prince she had been waiting for. But she would wake up with blood on her hands and not know what had happened, and Tom never had the answers. She was scared, so scared, but she thought that maybe, with Tom there, she would be safe and everything would be all right.

But everything _wasn't_ all right, and she began to realize –too late- that Tom wasn't the prince at all; he was the dark sorcerer, the evil magician who seduced the princess into danger. She wanted to yell out, to scream, _Harry, Harry please save me_, but there were always other people there and she was afraid that they'd find out how _bad_ she had been and expel her. She didn't want to be expelled, not now, not when she had finally come to Hogwarts after so many years of waiting.

And the dark sorcerer slowly took her over, and she knew that she was going to die, that he was killing her and no one would save her. And she closed her eyes and resigned herself to the darkness, thinking that maybe she wasn't the princess at all. Maybe she was just the maid and no one would miss her when she was gone, because princesses were girls like Cho Chang and Lavender Brown with beautiful hair and lilting voices and she would never be one of them.

But when she woke up, there was Harry, drenched in blood and breathing heavily, and she realized, as she looked over at the giant basilisk, that he had slain the dragon for her. And he held her as she sobbed, even though he looked a bit uncomfortable, and he protected her and brought her back to her parents. He told Dumbledore that it wasn't her fault at all, and she cried thankfully when she found out that she wasn't going to be expelled, that no one blamed her for what had happened.

Summer came, and she flew with her brothers, and they let her play this time, even though they panicked and hovered protectively the first time she fell off of her broom. And when school started, she still thought of Harry Potter, but he never seemed to notice her. Sometimes he would look over and smile, or say hello, but she was always just the youngest Weasley, the little sister of his best friend.

And she grew up over the years- _twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen_...– and she stopped waiting for her prince to come around. She played Quidditch and made lots of friends and was happy enough to never need a prince. She dated other boys, boys who were more like squires than knights or princes, young shy boys who told her that her hair was pretty and her hands were soft. And she giggled when they held her hand and blushed when they kissed her, and in those moments she couldn't help but feel beautiful.

And slowly, but surely, she developed a friendship with the boy she had once seen as her prince, and they would sneak up to the Astronomy Tower together and she would sit and patiently listen as he let out the feelings that he had kept pent up for so long. She felt sorry for this young boy, who had been made older and wiser by the weight that he carried. She knitted him ugly scarves (she had learned from her mum) and baked him burnt cookies in her attempts to cheer him up, and he always wore the scarves, even though Ron laughed at him, and he always ate the cookies, even though he rather grimaced as he did so.

She pulled him out onto the Quidditch field, sometimes in the middle of the night, and they would race, the wind blowing her hair back as she pushed her broomstick to go faster. She never won, but it was worth it to see him smile (_god_ but those smiles were so rare) and smirk as she pretended to pout. _Humph,_ she would say, _you're some gentleman_. And he would roll his eyes and mutter that she was being utterly melodramatic, and then she would smack him upside the head with her broomstick. She never meant to hit hard, but once, he had moved and she accidentally brought the broomstick down on his head with a loud crack. She apologized and hovered and stared at his head in concern, making sure that she hadn't _killed_ the Boy-Who-Lived or anything, but he only laughed and ruefully commented on what a vicious witch she was as he rubbed the back of his head.

And she told herself that she didn't need him, that she was older now and didn't believe in silly little fairytales, but still, when his seventh year ended and his graduation day came, she sat in the crowd next to her parents and cried. She didn't really care at all as the tears streaked down her cheeks, and simply wiped them away as she smiled wanly and gave Ron a hug as he happily walked over, holding Hermione's hand in his own. And then Harry came over and she suddenly felt quite dizzy and lost, and she was only able to whisper her congratulations before she burst into tears again.

And oh so suddenly, she felt his arms around her, and she looked up in surprise, her tears momentarily forgotten. She tried to tell him sarcastically that she would miss him _dreadfully_, but it didn't come out sarcastic at all and she merely whispered the words, knowing as soon as they escaped her lips that she meant it. And he suddenly lowered his head slowly and touched his lips to her in front of her whole family and _everyone_. Her brothers had stared at first, and then burst into laughter, and her mum had been so proud and happy. And she had simply looked back up at him and grinned at her _prince_, her very own prince, and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. _If you don't come back and visit me_, she had told him sternly,_ I'd be forced to hunt you down and make you suffer._

_Of course_, he whispered, and then he looked rather nervous and vulnerable as he continued. _Because... well because you'll be my girlfriend, right? I mean, it's all right if you don't want to be, but will you?_

She laughed in reply and echoed his words, _of course_, and pulled him in for another kiss. This time, her brothers made gagging noises and teased her unmercifully, but she simply rolled her eyes and told them that they were being hypocritical idiots. _Oh Ron, how many times have I walked in on you and Hermione snogging, hmm? _Both Ron and Hermione turned red, and Harry laughed.

Her last year was a peaceful one, completely unmarred by war and destruction. She went to the owlery once a week without fail and sent off a letter to Harry, her _prince_. He was training to become an Auror now, and sometimes she worried because she knew that there were still dark wizards and she didn't like to think of him being in danger. _Dear Harry, I hope you're well_... they always began, and she would tell him of the silly things that had happened at Hogwarts: the trio of first years who caused as much havoc as Fred and George, how Luna Lovegood had been made Head Girl, and how Professor Snape had been surprisingly kinder ever since he and Professor Sinistra had begun dating. And he would always write back, like the boy named Tom, except his letters were genuine and sweet and she never ever woke up with blood on her hands anymore.

He visited sometimes, and one time he came during a Hogsmeade weekend and they walked in the brisk fall weather together. She paused at a park and began piling up leaves, despite his questioning look. And then she took his hand and they jumped in together, and they laughed as the leaves flew everywhere. They continued walking, and on the way he brushed a leaf out of her hair and leaned in and kissed her, and she didn't blush like she did with the other boys, but simply smiled because it felt perfectly _right_. And they sipped on hot butterbeers together and argued loudly about Quidditch and people stopped to frown at them. She simply giggled and rested her head on his shoulder, and he draped his arm around her shoulder and she felt giddy and excited, like she had as a little girl whenever her mum read to her from a fairytale.

He came to the Burrow for Christmas, and her brothers would tease her (just like they did when she was younger and dressed up as an angel) and her mum would sigh wistfully. _Young love is always so beautiful_, she told her. _I'll have to put up some mistletoe for you two._ And Ginny always blushed and whined, _muuum, _but her mum never did listen and the mistletoe was hung right above the doorway. And Christmas came and so did he, and she eagerly thrust a wrapped present at him. _Here_, she murmured, _this is for you_. He opened it and found a scrapbook, one she had worked painstakingly on, and he smiled and leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. And she smiled and giggled a bit, feeling like a little girl again, and he handed her a lumpy package. _For you_, he muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair nervously. She ripped off the wrapping paper (she was a ripper, Hermione was an unwrapper) and burst into giggles when she saw that he had made her a scarf, quite possibly the ugliest thing she'd ever seen. It was purple and not quite straight and rather lumpy, but she proudly wrapped it around her neck and smiled at him wryly. _This is worse than the ones I made you_, she remarked, and he grinned and replied, _I know_.

And then he had handed her another smaller box, rather messily wrapped, and she had taken it from him questioningly and opened it. It was a little book, rather like a diary, and he opened it to a blank page and explained to her that he had one too and if she wrote into it, he could reply right away. _That way, _he had blushed_, we can have an easier way of saving out letters. _Her brothers had laughed and teased them for being such a, as Ron so aptly put it, sickeningly smitten couple, but she had glared at them and hissed threats under her breath. _She's rather scary, isn't she?_ Fred observed. They left her alone after that.

One, two, and then three years passed, and she was out of school and had been playing for the Holyhead Harpies as a Chaser. Harry came to every game and cheered her on, and during her first game, when she had felt queasy and more nervous than the day she had come to Hogwarts, he had held her hand and promised her ice cream later on, and she had felt a little better. Her family came to her games too, that shock of red hair stood out in the crowds, and they worried and fussed over her like she was a little girl. Once during a game, an opponent had knocked a bludger her way and she had barely dodged it. And when she looked down, her parents were sitting rigidly; their faces pale, and her brothers were standing and yelling obscene things. And even though the words they screamed were so vulgar and crude they made her wince, she couldn't help but grin at their concern. And even her mum, who usually never ever condoned that type of language smiled, because, _that dreadful boy had tried to hurt her darling daughter and he deserved it. _

And it had been a whole twelve years since the first time she had seen her _prince_, and he was now an Auror who worked for the ministry and fought dark wizards all the time. She still lived at the Burrow with her parents, and one day she was having lunch with her mum, she said, _I really do love him, mum_, and her mum had simply smiled knowingly and replied, _but dear, you always have._

And she thought that maybe it was true, that maybe she really had loved this boy forever and ever and never even known it. It had been twelve years since she had first seen him, _more than half her life._ And one day, rather unexpectedly, they had visited Hogwarts together and there in the Great Hall, underneath the starry ceiling, he had knelt down on one knee and asked her, in that adorable nervous way of his if she'd like to marry him. And she had managed to squeak out yes because_, Harry there's no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with_, and he had grinned widely and slipped a ring on her slender finger and kissed her right there, in front of the whole student body _again_. And somehow, it felt just like that first time at his graduation and she leaned in towards him and hugged him again, and smiled because she knew that now she'd never have to let go.

Years later, they had a little daughter, a slender slip of a girl with her mother's red hair and her father's striking green eyes. And they would sit with her at night and read her stories from a worn book of fairytales, and her eyes would sparkle as she listened to the tales of princesses and dragons and knights. And she would look up at her mummy and ask, in an awed little voice, _but is it true, mummy? Are there really princesses and princes, and do they always end up happily ever after?_

And her mummy would glance over at her husband and smile gently at their daughter and reply firmly, _yes darling. They always do. _

**The End.**

**A different writing style than usual, I know, but I kind of like it. Tell me what you think!**


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